Joe groaned as he slowly opened his eyes. He was really getting tired of this.  His head felt thick and he knew it was a leftover effect of whatever Muir drugged him with.

He was still lying face down on the bed, and turning his head slightly, he was surprised that his bodyguard wasn’t there.  It seemed like every time he opened his eyes lately, it was to Muir.

“Oh Frank,” he moaned, his mouth feeling like sandpaper, “Where are you, big brother…?”

Closing his eyes again, he doubled over with a sharp pain in his stomach.  It took him a minute to recognize it, as first he thought Muir must have done something….But it wasn’t – he was just hungry. Very, very hungry.

Joe had no idea what time it was, or even what day.  He’d been keeping track pretty good until they started drugging him and now he wasn’t sure if this was Sunday or Monday anymore.

How many days had he been here now?

When was the last time I ate?  he wondered as his stomach cramped up painfully again.  Since his abduction, he’d managed a couple pieces of bacon and… and….?

Joe frowned.  Is that all he’d had?  He didn’t remember eating anything Saturday because his stomach had been too queasy, and then what he did eat didn’t stay down after he saw…

Moaning, Joe refused to finish that last thought because with it came images of that poor woman’s murder….

He’d been sick after that, he remembered that too plainly…and since then…

Joe shook his head in frustration; all he could decide was that his stomach had a pretty good reason to be pissed off at him.

His body was aching from being bound for so long – particularly his shoulders, back and arms.  Stifling a gasp when he tried to move and the handcuffs dug into his already abraded right wrist, he actually had to stop for a moment to collect himself.

That pain had been unexpected and exquisite, rudely reminding him of how hard he had worked to get loose the last time…only to be foiled by this accursed house and then that mammoth mutt.

Forcing himself past the discomforts and pain, Joe rolled onto his side, swinging his legs onto the floor, and managed to push himself up into a sitting position.  His head swam as he did so, and he closed his eyes, willing the effects of the drug to go away.

Gotta get out of here, his mind kept telling him, and only his sheer stubbornness got him on his feet and moving.

But now came his biggest problem – his hands were still tightly secured behind him and, unlike rope, Joe couldn’t just rub the metal away. 

Staggering, he did get to the balcony door and then leaned against it for a few minutes until the room stopped spinning.

Okay, he thought, let’s take a little look and see if things are as bad as Muir said they were.  He was thinking back to the giant’s comment about using the balcony as an escape route.

Using his face, Joe managed to push aside the curtain that hung on the door, and he pressed his face against the glass and sighed, fighting back the wave of depression over the hopelessness of his situation.  As he’d already known, he was on the second story, which wasn’t actually that bad. The problem was, with his hands secured behind him, Joe couldn’t climb down.

The room he was in faced the back of the house and the teen knew if he could get loose, and down the side of the house, it would only be a short run to the woods.  Once in the woods, the trees would afford him some coverage and give him a chance to get away.

The only lucky break he could see was that the Mortons’ farm was on the other side of the woods, so all Joe had to do was keep to the woods and he’d be okay.

One of the great things about Chet Morton being Frank’s best friend since they were little, was that the three of them had spent a lot of time playing in the woods near the Mortons’ farm.  So Joe was somewhat familiar with the area.

Of course they never went as far as Deathe House, but they’d come close in their older years. The only thing that kept them away…and that attracted them at the same time…was the rumor that the house was haunted.

Joe now felt pretty sure that that rumor was true. The only thing was…what was haunting Deathe House was a hell of a lot more scary than any ghost.

Hearing the door opening behind him, Joe slowly turned around and sighed in resignation.  Muir was back.  And as he heard the same monotone voice he felt his resolve weakening.

“Dinner is in ten minutes.”

* * *

“Ah Joseph, so nice to see you looking so…alive,” Mr. Rosado greeted the sullen-faced teen when he and Muir arrived in the dining room ten minutes later.

Once again, Joe was dressed in an elaborate frilly silk blouse and form-fitting black pants.  But unlike the previous times, he’d said nothing about it.

Seeing the old man sitting there so smug and oblivious to the cruelty of this, intensified Joe’s realization that the longer he was here, the more precarious his position became. 

His mind was still haunted by the murder he’d witnessed, and now more recently by his near escape and the look on Mr. Rosado’s face as Muir suffocated him.

He just really wanted to go home….

* * *

Numbly Joe waited for Muir to remove the handcuff from his left wrist and fasten it to the chair before he sat down.  He saw a silver tray with a lid on it placed before him but he didn’t reach for it.

Although his stomach was still cramping painfully, his heart was too heavy to carry an interest in food.  He knew that would garner a response from his brother if Frank was here, and his mouth twitched in an almost sad smile.

Frank loved to comment on the ‘bottomless pit’ that was Joe’s stomach…but not today.  Not right now….

Every time the boy opened his eyes and saw that he was still here, Joe lost something.  He didn’t know what, but something.

Maybe it was hope….He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it pressed down on his spirit just a little bit more each time until now, after coming so close to escaping, he just felt too weary to even eat.

“I have a special treat for you today,” Antoine said, oblivious to his young guest’s subdued demeanor, “straight from your mother’s kitchen.”

Horror-filled blue eyes met his gleaming ones as Muir lifted the lid off the tray and Joe felt sick – he recognized it right away.

It was a piece of banana bread.  And without even tasting it, he knew it was his mother’s.

“You were at my house,” Joe said, more a comment than a question. His heart tightened painfully as his vision burned, just looking at the slice and knowing from where it came.

“As a matter of fact I was,” the old man purred, enjoying the look on his young guest’s face.  He couldn’t quite place the emotion but he was enjoying it anyway.  “I spent some time with your brother.  He really is a remarkable young man—”

Mindless of his restraint, Joe lunged at the old man.  “LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!” and then fought when Muir tried to reseat him.

Throwing all his weight back against the chair, both it and Joe toppled backwards onto Muir.  As they collapsed on the floor, there was a loud crack and the chair handle snapped, freeing Joe’s handcuff.

Disbelieving his good luck, but refusing to waste any time contemplating it, Joe scrambled off the giant, staggered to his feet and was running, without so much as a backward glance at either Mr. Rosado or Muir.

This time he wasn’t going to chance running into the dog again, and headed for his own room – he had a plan.

Behind him, he could hear Muir getting to his feet, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard the old man cursing at him!  Joe wasted no time reflecting – he couldn’t afford to be caught again!

* * *

Taking the stairs two by two, Joe’s mind was working feverishly about what he could use as a rope. He only came up with one thing, and that wasn’t exactly the best of ideas.

All he could hope was that it would get him close enough to the ground that when he let go, he wouldn’t have far to fall….

* * *

Racing into his room, he locked the door – like that was going to keep the monster out of his room for very long – and grabbed one of the tiebacks off the post of the canopy bed.

Throwing open the balcony door, he quickly knotted the sash to the railing and with one quick prayer, threw himself over….

As he was falling, he was sure he knew what the translation was for Tarzan’s yell as he swung through the jungle on that vine….

Please hold, please hold…!

And then the railing snapped.